𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲!𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐇𝐂
nsfw below the cut!!
She’s old money but subtle about it. The Prentiss estate, the diplomatic trust funds, the Swiss accounts? You’d never know unless you looked too closely… or saw the custom Cartier bracelet she slid onto your wrist just because it was Tuesday. She's not flashy. But everything she touches is top shelf. Her suits? Tailored. Her watch? Vintage and stupid expensive. Her perfume? Smells like old libraries, bergamot, and control. You so much as look at something in a store window and she’s already walking in to buy it. You: “Oh my god, that bag is so cute.” Emily: “Do you want it in black or red, baby?” You: “...I was just looking.” Emily: hands the sales associate her AmEx without breaking eye contact “Both, then.” She tips waiters in triple digits and has never looked at a receipt in her life. You’re trying to add up groceries and she’s already swiping the card and pulling you away. “Stop doing math. You’re pretty. Let me take care of it.” Her car? German. Black. Smooth. Smells like leather and her cologne. Heated seats. Always stocked with mints, lip gloss, and those soft expensive tissues. You once mentioned you liked one of the throw blankets in her backseat and now there's a matching one at the foot of your bed at home. She gets off on taking care of you. Like. Visibly smug. She sees you curled up in her shirt, scrolling on your phone, sipping the fancy drink she brought you while she finishes work emails — and she smirks, like, “Yeah. That’s mine.” When you’re out together? You order something cheap. She upgrades it. You say, “I can pay—” She kisses your cheek and goes, “Don’t make me scold you in front of the waiter.” And oh, she spoils you at home too. Bubble baths run for you. Champagne chilling in the fridge. A closet she had built just for your clothes — and it’s already half full because she “couldn’t resist” picking up a few things she thought you’d look pretty in. You: “You’re going to ruin me.” Emily, handing you another box: “Good.” She LOVES when you play up the spoiled princess act. You pout. She coos. You say, “Em, I’m out of gloss,” She’s already opening her wallet and tilting her head, like, “That’s a crisis. We should fix that immediately.” And don’t even THINK about paying for dinner. You: “Let me just get my card—” Emily: gently but firmly sliding the bill out of reach “You’re not allowed to pay with your own money. You're far too pretty for that.”
